


Home Soon

by Rickylee



Series: Fantasy au [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fantasy AU, M/M, additional tags to be added maybe, cullasseth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rickylee/pseuds/Rickylee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place the same time as Homeward. a few weeks after the battle at the Gates of Cullasseth.</p><p>Jean dutifully sits by Marco's bed side, both suffering wounds that cut deeper than flesh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drama Bomb

**Author's Note:**

> FUCK IT. LEARN WHAT RACE JEAN IS. I DON'T CARE. I CAN'T KEEP IT A SECRET ANY LONGER!
> 
> But ya, Homeward is also an on going thing, but I've hit a road block with reibert, but my writing has been fluent in jeanmarco, so maybe my otp that will never become canon because one of them is dead will help me through my writing ailment.
> 
> Just pretend to be surprised when I get around to writing the journey to Cullasseth part II okay?

Jean lay on his side watching Marco sleep as peacefully as his wounds allowed. His own scrapes and bruises from the battle weeks ago, and the slight burning sensation coming from his back preventing his own rest. His back stung like a paper cut dipped in lemon juice; painful, but easily ignored. He wants to crawl into Marco’s bed and steal his warmth both physically and mentally; but any jostling could potentially undo what Eren did and kill him. Though, thanks to his own and others efforts and magic, Marco’s pretty much closed up.

Cullasseth had been kind enough to allow them an extended stay to allow Marco time to heal. The elves here are nice enough, though they carry an air of arrogance that’s exceedingly irritating. He wants to go home. Back to the warm arms of his mother, however much of a mama’s boy that makes him. Cullasseth is a beautiful city brimming with magic and other such wonders Marco would love to explore; but the wonder doesn’t comfort Jean. He’s hardly left their wing. This city makes him feel small, unimportant.

“Jean.” Marco breathes. At first Jean thinks Marco maybe talking in his sleep till the brunet tries to turn his head in his direction.

Jean jumps up and immediately goes to his side. “Jean.” Marco rasps again.

“Don’t move too much. You’ll undo what we did.” Jean scolds. It feels wrong to his ears. Marco isn’t meant to be scolded, it’s his job to scold.

“Jean. I want to go home. I miss my mom.” Marco sniffs and Jean feels his heart ache.

“Me too.” He leans down to press a kiss on Marco’s dead eye. “Not till you can ride a horse again. Another week and we can start your therapy. Don’t cry Marco.”

But he cries anyway. Marco tries his best to wipe away the tears with his remaining arm, but they just keep coming. Only one eye cries, the other isn’t even real. Well it’s real, but useless –like a glass eye- a pseudo Eren created to help mold his eye socket to its original shape. Or something like that, Jean wasn’t really paying attention to the asshole’s explanation.

“I won’t be able to play my instrument anymore.” He says emptily. Marco begins to list all the things he will no longer be able to do and Jean feels himself die with every hiccupped word and hitched breath.

Jean doesn’t say a word through Marco’s pain. What _can_ he say? It’s fine? Cause it’s _not_ fine. Marco doesn’t having a fucking arm anymore. He’s half blind now, he’ll have awful scars the rest of his life. A possible permanent limp. It’s _not fine_ and Jean had never been one to sugar coat the truth. All he can do is let Marco vent his frustrations. Jean had begged him not to before; after all crying comes chest heaves, chest heaves cause damage to new tissue, damage means more blood more pain. Jean couldn’t deal with more pain, he’s not sure he can deal with it now.

“I know.” Jean finally says, voice laced with emotion. He holds the other’s calloused hand as Marco continues to cry.

* * *

Jean must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew he’s being shaken awake by a disgruntled nurse.

Groggily, Jean untangles his hand from Marco’s iron grip and stands, massaging the numbness from his fingertips.

Marco wakes almost instantaneously. “Jean?”

“Here. Gunna go use the chamber pot alright? The nurse is here.” Jean yawns leaving the room.

When he comes back Marco is in new bandages and the nurse is setting his food tray on his lap. Marco looks up, turning his head so he can see Jean entering; the nurse’s gaze follows. When their stares don’t light up Jean begins to feel uncomfortable.

“What?” it comes out harsher than he intended. Marco picks up his spoon and begins to eat purposefully.

“How’s your ailment Mr. Kirschtien?” she stalks closer to him, she has an aura that makes Jean uncomfortable. Like how a mouse instinctively knows the cat is to be untrusted.

“…It’s fine.” He says after a long bout of awkward silence. Marco hasn’t looked up from his chunky soup.

“Really now?” she raises a brow, or at least tries as both brows raise instead of one. “Mr. Bodt tells me you’re still having pains?”

Jean throws a bewildered slightly betrayed look at Marco who chose then to glance up, he quickly glances away suddenly very interested in the potato in his spoon.

“They sting is all.” Jean edges toward his own food tray hoping the woman would go away.

“Sting?” She moves so fast Jean loses sight of her till her spindly hand smacks his upper back, just where his wings meet back.

“OW!” Jean cries out, stumbling, he can feel tears prickling in his eyes. Marco stares bewildered at the nurse. “What the fuck was that for you crusty old hag!”

The nurse draws herself up to full height with an indignant inhale, “You’re rejecting them boy! If you want the pain to go away, you must stop fighting who you are!” she yells causing Marco to flinch at her tone and Jean to just angrier.

“I don’t _want_ them!” Jean stresses his face twisted in an ugly scowl, “They’re stupid, useless, unwanted. They’re-they’re-“ Jean stops talking is chest heaving at how angry he is. “It’s none of your goddamn business anyway, so stay the fuck out of mine! Your job is to help Marco heal, not meddle with me!”

The nurse hisses several elvish (assumed) curse words before storming out and slamming the heavy elderwood door closed.

Jean shoves food in his mouth while Marco stares at his own not really knowing what to say. Jean won’t talk to him about why he hates his… abnormality. Marco continues to pick at his food, itch his bandaged shoulder, his nose, pick at his food some more, maybe take a bite or two… The silence drags on and Marco can’t stand it any longer.

“Jean- she was only trying to help.” He says timidly. “I don’t understand why you hate them so much.”

Silence.

“Jean-“

Jean shakes his head furiously. His aches are his own fault, by rejecting a part of him - his parts in turn, reject him. No one could possibly understand the ridicule he got as a child. The abuse he received by outsiders. The pain people put him through. He’s gotten over his childhood bullies, the pain of the past; but there’s one thing he can’t forget, he can’t let happen again. The true reason why he left Trost to train as a soldier. To show the fuck faces he’s more than ‘Jean the Fairy Boy’ or ‘Several Thousand Pounds of Gold’.

“You wouldn’t understand Marco.” Jean whispers harshly hoping Marco will stop pushing in favor of giving into his fear of negative conflict.

“Then _make_ me understand Jean!” Marco cries out, “You’re in pain. I-I can’t _stand_ to watch you shrink away, to-to hear you cry yourself to sleep every night because of something as pathetically silly as your _fucking wings!_ ” Marco yells. His voice bouncing off the stone walls creating a desperate echo.

Jean starts in amazement, partly because Marco had never raised his voice like that at him and partly because sweet, saintly Marco _cursed_. He looks at his damaged lover slowly seeing Marco just as surprised as he is, the look is quickly wiped away as Marco frowns.

“There’s a reason you don’t see male fairies Marco.” Jean says after the shock has passed. His voice is hoarse and just above a whisper. It breaks Marco’s heart, this isn’t Jean. “They’re kept away. Hidden away to keep them safe.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Male fairies are different. More… potent… harder to break… stronger but weaker. Our magic… it’s different somehow. You see how I can make things alive.” Jean’s hands tremble in his lap.

“How many times have you been attacked Jean?” Marco whispers, his soft voice laced with unspoken emotion. He only understands half of what Jean is trying to tell him, but somehow Marco understands why Jean hides.

Jean doesn’t answer as his shoulders shake violently; choked sobs follow after several attempts to hold in the noises. Marco pats the bed next to him and Jean wastes no time in crawling over, uncaring of the potential damage he could do as he throws himself onto Marco. Marco holds him tightly his cheek pressed into Jeans oily ash brown locks; his undercut no longer after so many weeks unwashed and without a trim; Marco’s hand strokes Jeans wings slowly and affectionately. Jean continues to shiver, his insect-like wings quivering pleasantly from the positive attention bestowed upon them.

Marco closes his eyes and lets Jean sob against him. _‘How many times have you been attacked Jean? How often did you get strange looks and touches from strangers I wonder? How young were you when you figured it out? When did you start hiding Jean? Quit trusting? Hating yourself? And how do I make you stop?’_

He remembers the first time he saw Jean’s wings. It was shortly after Eren was taken away and about a day or two after the Trost earthquakes. Jean had been acting so very strangely; storming about to every apothecary, every nurse, and every physician searching for something. Always keeping his tunic and jacket tightly cinched and keeping his back to walls. At the time Marco hadn’t thought any of it, with things still in chaos and focused on his own pain to pay Jean’s panic any mind; he’d broken several ribs and an arm – the very arm he no longer has – when part of a building fell on top of him and many others (he was the only one to survive).

* * *

Finally, Marco was able to corner Jean. He’d followed him out one late night, deep into the forest, and watched as Jean shrugged off his jacket (after several minutes of searching his surroundings and getting whatever he was doing set up) and being completely bemused but the strange lumps on his back. The strange lumps moved and became more apparent as Jean started unbuttoning his shirt. The gray shirt slipped off his shoulders, getting caught on the lumps, before fluttering to the ground.

Marco remembers the choked gasp he suppressed when he came to see the most beautiful wings he’d ever laid eyes on (granted he’d only seen a few fairy wings before Jean, but still).

They lay flat along his spine, like how a mayfly’s wings lay, before shivering and fluttering up and out. They quivered, as if they were shaking out their kinks, and seemed to emit their own very faint amber glow. Marco was too far away to see detail but he could see two, maybe three pairs of wings in a uniform line down his spine.

Jean crouched down and picked up something that glinted in the meager moonlight. He examined the thing closely, seeming to gather his nerve for something. Even from afar Marco could see the crinkle in his face as he resolved his doubts. Jean reached behind him to wrench a single wing forward, it didn’t look like he cared much if he hurt himself. It didn’t occur to Marco what Jean was doing - that the object he was holding was a knife, that Jean was trying to get a better angle to bring the knife onto his wings - till it was almost too late.

“NO!” Marco felt himself shout. “JEAN! DON’T!” Marco ran, stumbling amongst the tree roots, toward his friend who had jump in fright dropping the blade as he did so. When Jean saw that is was Marco he began to back up turning his back away from the man and desperately trying to hide away his wings.

Marco didn’t register the look of pure terror Jean had in his eyes, the way the other man’s eyes would dart around trying to find an escape route. Marco picked up the blade he had dropped, Jean jumped away from him with a terrified squeak, and threw it as far as he could throw it. It landed with a splash, probably landing in the lake not far from where they stood. Marco ignored the pain in his dominate arm, it was nothing compared to what Jean would have felt if he had let the man go through with it.

Jean started to back away again, “Ma-Ma-Marco-“ he swallowed painfully.

“JEAN ARE YOU NUTS!? You could have bled to death!” Marco harshly whispers at him. Jean’s wings are so much grander and larger up close; easily thrice Jean’s width and at least two-thirds his height. They glow like fire, shimmering and dancing like fire. For a fleeting moment Marco thinks his wings _are_ fire, but the thought is pushed away. _‘That’s just silly.’_

Jean has backed himself into a tree, his skinny chest is heaving. “Ma-Marco- what are you doing?” his voice cracks several times.

It takes a long time for Marco to calm Jean down. Jean wouldn’t go near him for hours, he used all his tricks to get Jean to even _look_ him in the eye. Jean eventually lets Marco inspect his wings (after what felt like many hours of coaxing and reassurance).

There’s three large pairs and two smaller pairs going down his spine making a grand total of five pairs (large wing, small wing, large, small, and large again). They attach in the meaty space between the spine and indent – the Rhomboid Minor and Major muscles if he remembers correctly – they take up the entirety of his upper back, just ending where the back bends into the body.

“They’re like _fire_ Jean. They’re so beautiful… Can I touch them?” Marco can’t help himself, he’d never been too enthralled with something like this before. Jean hesitantly nods and Marco touches where the wing meets skin - it’s calloused and hard – the tips – bendy but sturdy, like bamboo – the spine – rigid but flexible. Jean hugs his knees, an occasional gasp or murmur muffled within his arms, Marco takes that as a good sign. Other than that, Jean stays as silent as the moon. His new appendages are the color of fire. Amber at his skin; like his eyes; scarlet at the spines and tips; like his passion; a healthy fire-orange of the veins pulse with every beat of Jean’s heart. Each tiny movement make them flicker like a candle flame in a drafty room.

“Can you fly?” Marco asks breathlessly.

“I don’t know.” Jean croaks his shoulders shrug, taking the wings with them. His wings suddenly snap down making Marco jump in surprise, he spins around facing Marco directly, angry polished amber pierces Marco’s very soul. He feels absurdly turned on.

“Not a word.” He hisses.

“Jean? I don’t underst-“

“If you speak- if you even _think_ about breathing a word about these-these abominations I’ll-“

“I won’t!” Marco says grabbing Jean’s wrists, “I promise!” Marco moves up to grab Jean’s sharp face, it’s a little awkward and painful with his broken arm. “You have my word Jean.”

Jean sags I relief. “Thank you. No one must know.”

“But why hide something so beautiful from the word Jean?” Marco puts his arm back in its sling, “Why try and cut them off? What could possibly be worth that pain?”

Jean shakes his head slowly, “No one must know.” He repeats. After a while Jean whispers “I take medicine to make them go away. My mother does too. But I ran out and there’s none in stock anywhere. It’s so hard to hide something this big.”

“What if we bind them? Like how Mikasa binds her breasts sometimes?” Marco suggests. Jean looks up from his knees, his expression like he’d never thought of it before. “Wait here. I’ll go back and get some bandages. I’m sure they won’t miss a few rolls.”

Marco quickly walks back to camp stealthy slipping past the night guards and raiding the med-tent. On the way back he makes sure he makes enough noise so Jean won’t run away like a frightened deer. He helps Jean bind his gorgeous wings to his back, firmly, but not so tight as to cause circulation problems.

They walk back to their temporary housing together, Jean jumping at every little sound and Marco carefully soothing his fears. By the time Marco convinces Jean it’s safe to sleep dawn’s light is peering over the tree tops.

* * *

“What type of fairy are you anyway Jean?” Marco asks after Jean has stopped sobbing, opting to almost purr with every stroke to his plumage.

“Fire. I think. I don’t know.” He nuzzles into Marco’s intact side.

They stay like that for a while. Eventually Marco begins to feel the medications wear off but is unwilling to let go of Jean. This has been the most intimate they’ve been since before the battle. For a while the pain is only a sting and he thinks Jean had fallen asleep, but the man is restless. Deep sighs and more purring come from the obvious conscious fairy.

“Do you love me Marco?” Jean asks out of the blue. His voice is soft – fragile.

“Of course I do.” Comes his immediate reply.

“For how long?”

“Since as long as I’ve known you.” Marco giggles, the pain is increasing slightly. “Okay maybe after I got to know you better. You can be a real jerk to people you know.”

“Five years you’ve loved me.” Jean breathes.

“I suppose so.” Marco knows it’s not that long. He didn’t have a crush in the beginning, it was just silly affection, like how you give a pet. But then again he can’t remember a time when he didn’t have some sort of affection for the other boy.

“What do you call someone who gets aroused at both men and women?” Jean asks. “There’s a name for it now I think.”

“Bisexual.” Marco can no longer stand the pain. “Love-“

“Hm?”

“It hurts too much now, please get off.”

Jean springs up. “I’ll go get someone!” Jean throws a heavy cloak over his bare shoulders and scuttles from the room.

Marco falls asleep again.


	2. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco takes baby steps.
> 
> Jean deals with his baby steps.
> 
> Also casual couple talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh. Well I tried. I'm tired and I have so much shit due. Like all my professors decided to have everything due at the last minutes and I'm so stressed right now, but in denial about being stressed. Like I typed this chapter because I was [still am] procrastinating doing my paper in Abnormal Psychology that's due Tuesday. Plus I have this Sociology thing due soon, 5 essays plus a power point for Anthropology just. ugh. Kill me.

Marco wakes up some time after midday with Jean’s sudden sexuality crisis on his mind. He’d thought Jean gotten over all that nonsense ages ago. _‘Or maybe he’s found someone new that’s not so broken.’_ That sinister voice whispers in his inner ear. _‘No. Jean wouldn’t do that!’_

He knows he’s not supposed to get up on his own, but he needs to use the pot and it's embarrassing having to pee through a very uncomfortable straw that he firmly believes should never go near his urethra. Ever. Though, mostly it’s because maybe the pains of new muscles working may wipe his mind clear of such negative thoughts.

It’s a lot of work, but eventually he’s able to sit up ready to stand. _‘Baby steps Bodt. No need to rush.’_ Standing is strange; he’s unbalanced and slightly lopsided due to the extensive damage to his abdominal muscles. Marco feels around his bandages making sure he hadn’t undone anything – everything seems to be in working order. He sighs in relief. _‘Now, which foot do I step with first?’_ he asks himself.

“Marco?” Jean’s voice comes from his blind side, so Marco can’t see him. “Marco what are you doing?”

“I’m going to the privy.”

“Here, let me-" Jean’s feet shuffle on the stone floor toward the chamber pot. He’s entered Marco’s vision. Jean looks a little sickly, too many ribs show and his wings have lost their glow.

“No.” Jean scrunches his forehead, his wings twitch. “I-I want to do it. Please?” he takes a tentative first step. It’s his first step in months and though it’s a tad bit painful, it feels amazing.

Jean watches on, worry etched into his face. It takes a few tries for the second step, there’s a pull – not really pain, but like stretching out muscles that haven’t been stretched before – it’s not so bad; walking.

Jean doesn’t protest just hovers and reaches out each time Marco loses balance. It annoys Marco, but he’s glad he’s there, Jean offers gentle assurance that he _can_ do it. He can get better - learn to casually stroll across the room and down the hall to the bathroom.

Marco has to lean on the door way and wait for his leg to stop cramping. “’T’s what you get for not moving for a month.” Jean scolds. The way he says it makes it look like Marco chose to be in bed for a month, it makes Marco laugh.

“You’re adjusting so well Marco.” Jean praises after helping him back into bed. “I’ll ask if we can start your therapy early.”

“Sounds good.” Marco comments as he leans back onto the head board. “The sooner I get moving the sooner we can go home.” He closes his eyes blissfully.

Jean sits down in his chair watching Marco’s lopsided smile. It’s charming he thinks. It’s still the same bright, impossibly sincere smile – just the right side can’t quite match up to the left. Marco’s face is nearly healed, teeth are still in the process of being regrown and his ear is still a bit strange looking; probably always will. Freckles out shine the scarring and for some reason that relieves some sort of weight from Jean’s chest.

Most of the healing sessions now focus on his torso. Marco’s arm is a lost cause, gone in the belly of the beast that attacked him, otherwise it would have been regrown like his eye or teeth. Jean doesn’t understand how that works. The other eye and teeth are gone too- why is his arm the exception? Eren had explained why as he frantically put Marco’s pieces back together and started grafting for Marco’s missing ribs, re-growing the eye, and a ton of other medical mumbo jumbo he couldn’t possibly wrap his head around; but he never caught it. Jean was too preoccupied with leaking his life energy into Marco to keep him alive that he barely remembers anything from then.

“I love you.” He says after a long bout of silence.

Marco smiles again, bigger this time. “I’m so bored.” He clears his throat, his previous words sounding slightly hoarse, “It’s so boring here.”

Jean hums in agreement. “We can play chess?”

“You’re too predictable to play with.”

“Am not.”

“Maybe a book.”

“Everything here is in elvish.” Jean pouts and rest his upper body on the bed, his head landing in Marco’s slanted lap.

They both sigh dramatically.

The nurse strolls in and passively suggests a bath or the both of them, “Keep his scars clean you know.” She says covertly covering her nose with a handkerchief. Jean perks up at this, so does his wings; which Jean disapproves of immensely. They’re annoying, troublesome, stupid- Why would anyone even  _want_ wings anyway?

“Come on Marco, let’s get you clean, you’re starting to smell rank.” Jean teases trying to get his mind of his problems. The elves refuse to give him his suppressants and Eren had left in an emergency before he could whip him up a batch.

Asshole.

“Can you get them wet?” Marco asks choosing to ignore Jean’s jab at his current hygiene status. He bats away the nurse who tries to help Marco out of bed.

Jean snorts. “Duh.” He thinks back to his childhood, before he became too afraid and ashamed if his… abnormality. To all the baths his mother dumped him in because he decided to roll in mud, because that what little boys do. “It’s like getting your hair wet. No big deal.”

“Okay.” Marco shrugs, then grimaces in pain.

It’s slow progress to the bathing rooms, with Marco having to take brakes every three of four yards and refusing the chair on wheels. It doesn’t help that the nurse keeps standing in front of Marco, insisting him to sit down. It’s the first time in a very long time Jean’s ever seen Marco be short with someone.

Jean is proud at how fast Marco is learning to balance and walk with a third of his body permanently disfigured.

Jean glares at the nurse till she leaves in another angry tiss. Marco sighs, once Jean starts disliking someone, it’s nearly impossible to make him stop. But Marco does see his point, being that he doesn’t really like her very much either.

Jean doesn’t help Marco undress for the soul reason that his love has very little dignity left and seems to be perfectly capable of wiggling out of his pants on his own. Marco appreciates it, it makes him feel less like an invalid.

Marco feels strange throughout the bath. His half sight gives him severe depth-perception impairment. His missing arm freaking him out as he can still _feel_ it. He’ll go reach for the soap with his right arm _feel_ it reach out and grasp, but there’s no weight on his empty shoulder.

It’s weird and it kind of scares him a little.

“Marco? You alright?” Jean asks as he helps him out of the bath.

“Just feel weird is all… Is it normal to feel a missing limb?”

“Hah?”

“Like, I feel it move, but it’s not there?”

Jean frowns jutting his hip out as he does. “I heard that’s a thing. Ask the nurse.”

Marco hums letting Jean gently pat dry his wounds.

* * *

The nurse didn’t want Marco to start his therapy early, she said it was too dangerous and that he was still much too weak to exert himself. Jean had never seen Marco wear a deeper scowl. Both boys ignored her as each day just before every meal Jean would guide Marco around the room.

The healing sessions ceased with their defiance but neither cared, Marco is healing well on his own now that the danger of him dying has passed. He still felt a lot of pain and he bled if he pulled on wounds or moved too fast or too long, but he didn’t care. _‘I’m getting better all the time.' 'It’s okay.' 'Jean’s right here.' 'Baby steps.’_ Marco repeated to himself anytime he felt like it was too much.

Jean beams at Marco, bursting with pride with every un-wobbled step; and when Marco’s too exhausted to walk, Jean makes it a point to re-train Marco’s depth perception by having him drop a small ball into a cup at varying distances. But, there are times when Marco seems lost or depressed and Jean doesn’t know how to get him out of his negative head space. It’s hard for him, because he’s a cynic by nature, a pessimist who almost always looks at the bad side before finding the good. That’s Marco’s job, to find the good in the bad. And Jean just doesn’t know how to do that. That’s why he has Marco.

He tries his best. Encouraging Marco, praising him “Marco you’re doing so well.” “Don’t you see? You don’t need my help walking to the privy anymore.” “You reached and grabbed the cup your first try!” It helps because Jean believes he will get better, but doesn’t fool either of them that he won’t be able to do certain things anymore, won’t be ‘normal’. Jean won’t lie to him, tell him it’s okay. What’s an arm? Who needs them? Well pretty much everyone.

“Baby steps.”

A week crawls by and Marco no longer needs help dressing or getting around. He can grasp things at distances with little difficulty, though he still has accidents, it’s only been a week of unprofessional help, but he’s many times better that he was a week ago.

Still the nurse refuses their requests.

“It seems odd.” Marco comments.

“Hmm?” Jean had been dozing in the little patch of sun that filters through the window and onto their bed. Marco thinks it’s cute, like a winged cat.

“That we only have one medical staff taking care of us? I haven’t seen a doctor or a shaman or any other medical personnel.”

“We’re pretty isolated down here.” Jean stretches and rolls onto his side.

“But-" Marco doesn’t say more. There’s no point.

“Yeah.” Jean goes back to dozing.

* * *

“I really want to have sex right now.” Marco says as he sinks down into the sheets with a soul wrenching sigh.

Jean chokes on his drink.

“Um.” He’s not sure what to say about that. “Me too.”

“Why don’t we?” Marco side-eyes him with a lewd grin. Jean can feel his cheeks warm.

“Can’t” he says ripping his gaze away from him and placing his glass on the nightstand. “Wish we could though.” He frowns and readjusts so he’s under the sheets with his lover. “Come to think of it, I haven’t even masturbated in like-" Jean scrunches up his nose in thought, “A while.”

“I did. Last night.” Marco comments sticking his fingers into the crevice the two pushed together beds made. “It’s strange with a different hand.”

“I have hardly left your side in days. How’d you get away with it?” Jean stares at him wide-eyed. “Every time I try that hag pops up.” Jean grouses.

“Did it while you slept.”

They’re quiet for a while, Jean is about to snuff out the lantern light so he can sleep when Marco speaks up.

“Why can’t we?”

“Because that hag has a ‘Jean-Kirschtien’s-Dick-Is-Out’ sensor and several of your sutures aren’t closed enough for heavy exercise. _Plus_ I refuse to have full blown sex with these things.” Jean lists.

“How come?” Marco sounds disappointed, Jean feels a twinge.

“Do you know how uncomfortable it is to lay one these suckers? It’s borderline painful- even worse when they fall asleep! They’ll get in the way.” Jean snides.

“Then ride me.”

“…” Jean doesn’t know what to say, his cheeks warm once more. He’d like too, but… he can’t do it. Not with wings. They flutter and stretch and quiver whenever he’s excited – similar to how a dog wags their tail – and no matter what people say… it’s extremely embarrassing. And they really would get in the way.

“I bet- I bet it would be like… like making love to a fire Jean!” Marco goes on in a dreamy voice, he hasn’t noticed Jean’s uncomfortable silence, “Maybe- maybe they’ll glow, how hot you’d feel around me, your passion and when you really get into it- you really do sound like a crackling fire.” He finishes his gushing with pink dusting his freckled cheeks and a glazed look about his eyes.

Jean almost changes his mind.

Almost.

“No.”

“Fine.” Marco pouts reaching over to blow out the tiny flame within the lantern. Jean blushes as he brushes against him. He doesn’t miss the smirk Marco doesn’t try to hide.

Jean tries not to think about how horny he is now.

_‘Baby steps Jeanbo. Baby steps.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and rate and all that good stuff please

**Author's Note:**

> Jean is bi bye.
> 
> Also the reason why Jean is a "tall" fairy is because he's technically only 1/4 fairy. Jean's magic is similar to Sophie's from Howl's Moving Castle. He can make things alive, or have life qualities by simply talking to them or thinking about it. Like his drawings.
> 
> don't forget to let me know what you think!!!


End file.
